Broken Wings
by DreamShadows
Summary: Dean's on a roadtrip, leaving Sam and John to hunt and fend for themselves. But what happens when a hunt goes wrong? Limp!Sam, Guilty&Protective!John and Dean. R
1. Chapter 1

Hey guys, **Charli**! So while I'm working on 'Twisted Night,' I thought I might as well get started on something else to make sure writer's block stays away. So then when I thought about a story, I remembered that I had promised one to my friend on the SFTCOL(AR)S forum.

She asked for a fic based on a conversation from 'The Kids are Alright.'

She's been patiently waiting on this story since October, and though I've started it many times, this story has been a P.I.T.A.! I mean, I love the story line and the characters, it just doesn't seem to want to go in one particular direction… So after scrapping it many times, I just decided to let it go and live. Hopefully you'll like it, Charli, and hopefully the rest of you will too!!

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural, the characters, or even the full story line… They belong to my bedroom… I mean- uh- Eric Kripke and the CW. 

Happy reading!

XXXX

'For he was speechless, ghastly, wan,  
Like him of whom the story ran,  
Who spoke the spectre hound in man.'

-Sir Walter Scott, The lay of the last minstrel, Canto VI, v.26.

XXXX

"Dad, are you sure we shouldn't call Dean for help on this one?" Sam asked, looking up from the tome he had been reading. The fifteen year old had been doing research for the past two hours, and he wasn't happy with what he had been finding.

Banshees were nasty things to deal with and Sam wasn't sure he and his father wouldn't need help on this hunt.

"Sam, let it go." John sighed, turning from his gun cleaning kit to look at his youngest imploringly. "Dean's on his own hunt right now, and all that calling him would accomplish would be to make him worry." Sam averted his eyes at the thought of making his brother worry; he never wanted to make Dean worry.

"Yeah," he answered softly.

"Besides," John added after a moment, "it's just a simple banshee hunt. We can handle it ourselves without a problem." Sam nodded, looking back up at his father, who gave him a little smile in return.

"Sure," Sam gave a small smile and turned back to the Gaelic book he had been perusing. He heard his father sigh, and knew the man had heard the underlying doubt in his tone, but there was nothing Sam could do about how he felt.

His father's footsteps fell hard on the wooden floor of their newest "accommodations" as the man made his way to the door. Sam didn't have to look to know when his father turned to look back at him, but glanced over his shoulder at him anyway.

"Be ready in twenty, we'll leave in thirty. That should get us there around seven tonight, with enough time to scope out the place before we meet up with the banshee." Sam nodded and looked back to his book with a sigh, place a marker on the page he had been reading, and pushed his chair out. With a weary breath, he stood and walked toward his bed to pull the ready made duffle out from under it.

Placing the ratty duffle on the bed, he unzipped it and carefully sorted through it, making sure everything that he needed was in the old bag. Grabbing the knife Dean had given him for his last birthday, he tested the blade, and slid it into the special made sheath on the inner edge of the side. He also grabbed a spare bottle of holy water, and stuffed it into his pocket, before looking around and making sure everything was ready, and closing the duffle.

The sound of the quiet zipper rattled loudly in his ears and he winced, feeling the beginnings of a headache forming behind his right eye and temple. Pushing the pain to the back of his mind, he unconsciously reached into the drawer of the bedside table and pulled out a bottle of aspirin and popped two, before tossing the bottle into the pocket on the side of the duffle.

He grabbed his duffle and slung it over his shoulder, before walking back to the old desk in the corner of the room and grabbing the old tome that rested there. He walked out the door with thoughts of Dean and the hunt roaming through his wayward and otherwise overloaded mind.

As he walked towards the kitchen, he grabbed his inhaler from the table near the phone and his father's keys. On a second thought, he grabbed the keys also, and walked to where his father was in the kitchen, packing weapons meticulously. The metal of the knives shined, and his father's wedding band clinked against the barrels of the guns as his father looked up at him.

"You ready?" He asked, looking Sam over, noticing the packed duffle over one shoulder and the tome in his hand.

"Yes sir." The reply was automatic, something he had done since he had first started training to fight the supernatural almost eight years ago.

"Well okay then, lets get a move on." His father grinned at him as he slung the weapons bag over his shoulder, and cuffed Sam's neck for reassurance.

"Yeah." Sam followed his father out the door quietly, glancing back at the house with longing before turning back and getting in the truck.

XXXX

Sam almost laughed when his father cut the engine in front of the house the banshee resided in.

So there was a more decrepit place than theirs.

The house looked like something straight out of a horror movie. It was old and rickety; it's gray exterior lending itself to age the building. The broken windows along with the falling shutters spoke of many accidents in the past. Cobwebs had been formed in just about every corner Sam looked, and dust lined every surface like a blanket.

"You have your inhaler?" John asked gruffly, as he too took in the sight of the old house.

"Yes sir," Sam answered quietly. He hadn't had an asthma episode in a while, but from the looks of the old house, it was a good possibility that one might happen that night.

"Good, let's go." His father's voice flowed behind him as he pushed himself out of the old truck, clashing with the screech as the door shut. Grabbing his bag, Sam hopped out of the truck and jogged to catch up with his father.

"So this thing struck again last night, right?" Sam asked quietly, a salt gun in one hand a flashlight in the other as he looked around the building.

A nod was the only forthcoming answer from his father.

"Well okay." Sam said after a minute, looking up at his father before turning his attention back to the task at hand. "So she seems to be attacking in a time range between eight thirty and nine every night. Every victim that has been found has the same profile description, mid to late teens, with dark hair and a tall build. Seven of the last ten attacks have been male too."

"Yeah, Sammy?" his father asked, spurring Sam on.

"I was just thinking that- well," Sam started before hesitating. "Ah, never mind, it doesn't matter." Sam said quietly after a minute. He wanted to tell his father that he thought they should stay together, that maybe he was just a little bit afraid.

With the record there was a really good chance that he would be the next in line to be attacked. There was also a pretty good chance that he wouldn't make it out of the building unscathed, and he really wished his father was thinking about that and not just the fact that the monster was going to be taken down. _But-_

…_He was a Winchester and Winchester's don't show fear._

"You sure?" The question was rough, and his father didn't turn to look at him, but Sam could see the concern creasing the outside of his eyes and the corners of his mouth from where he stood.

Sam pushed the uneasiness down and swallowed, putting up a stoic façade, to make sure the concern on his father's face went away, and he focused completely on the hunt. "Yeah. I'm sure."

"Okay, good then. Why don't you scope out the upstairs and set up the traps and I'll do the same down here?" He finally looked to Sam for an answer, and Sam nodded.

"Sounds good." Sam asked, walking over and starting up the stairs. The old wood creaked under his feet, and dust rose as his hand ran over the hand rail. Sam sneezed but kept walking, determined to do his best on this hunt.

"And Sam," John called, forcing his son to look back at him. "Be careful, son." A caring smile lined his worn features and Sam froze at the sincerity and concern in it.

"You too dad." With that John got back to work and Sam turned and continued his way up the stairway.

Now if only they kept to that promise.

TBC

XXXX

A/N: So what did you think? I hope you enjoyed, and though this starts off slow, there will be plenty of angst and limp… I mean this is me right?

Take care, and reviews are awesome!

DS


	2. Chapter 2

Hey guys!! So I know I said this would be up by yesterday, but has been biting, and after a long competition yesterday, I didn't have the energy to fight back…

So here's the next chapter for Charli, or as you know her, Somebody Once…

Hope you enjoy… Oh and JJ Phoenix recommended the song, and it just seemed perfect for this story… It's called Waiting (Save your life) by The Crash Motive.

Happy reading!

XXXX

'_Maybe I can save your life,  
__At times you've hated me,  
__Ain't that how love should be,  
__So just let me save your life,'_

Sam cautiously drew the last symbol into place. It wasn't a guarantee that the traps would do any good, but his father was a better safe than sorry kind of guy, and knowing that the traps were in place would set his mind at ease.

Even if it didn't do any good for Sam himself.

Looking around, Sam scanned his surroundings, looking over anything and everything. He tried to figure out what had happened in the house in the past. What had drawn the banshee to attach itself to the old building, but there were no clues in the house itself.

Sure it was old and looked as if it held centuries of history in it's hands, yet Sam couldn't see a clear reason for all the attacks to have taken place there. He idly wondered to himself if the banshee had formed from a spirit that had died there, maybe one that had been murdered by a person fitting the description of all the victims.

Heaving a sigh, Sam stood and made his way over to his weapons bag. A hacking cough slowed his progress, and he pressed his hand to his mouth as if to ward off the pain that ripped up through his lungs and throat. His breath wheezed out a little as he continued to his bag, and he dropped his hand a little to protectively cradle his chest.

He drew his sawed of shot gun and checked to make sure the salt rounds were loaded and ready. Drawing his hunting knife, he sheathed it in it's case on his hip, and reached down to strap his 9mm on his ankle.

The gun was loaded with holy water rounds, exploding shells, and even it's own version of salt rounds… If they couldn't take down the banshee, well Sam only prayed the exorcism would work.

Standing up, Sam stretched, pulling his arms over his head and backwards, trying to release the tension he could feel forming between his shoulders. He forced himself to calm down, and told himself that the hunt would go fine, that nothing would go wrong.

_Yeah we should ever be that lucky._ Sam thought to himself ruefully. Gathering his things into his bag, he tossed the old duffle over his shoulder and walked from the room, an unconscious shiver running down his back.

He never saw the hate filled eyes that tracked his movements as he walked through the door.

XXXXX

John Winchester scoped out the downstairs of the house as if he were a general going to war. And with what he was about to do, he supposed he was. Sam and Dean were his second in command and they fought their war every time a new hunt made itself known.

Smiling to himself, John walked over to the corner of the room he was in and rechecked the symbols he had drawn only moments ago. He had told Sam that nothing would go wrong on this hunt, and he was bound and determined to keep his word.

He would do everything possible to keep that promise.

Sighing as he ran his hand over the symbols and looked down into his journal to see if he had drawn them correctly, John shook his head. Everything was to perfection, and even though he knew that, he couldn't stop the feeling of foreboding that stole the breath from his lungs as he walked back into the kitchen of the old house.

Spiders and moths had made the old room their home over the years and cobwebs and moth nests in the corners and throughout the worn and breaking cupboards. Chuckling to himself, John walked over to the sink and looked out the little window above it, trying to gauge to the time from the darkness of the sky. He had forgotten his watch when he was preparing for the hunt and though his cell phone had the time on it, he had leant it to Dean so his son would have a way to call during the hunt.

Scrubbing a hand over his face, he walked back out into the foyer and looked up the rickety stairs that would take him to the second floor of the house. Grasping the wooden railing tightly in his hand, he hauled himself onto the first step and took the rest of them two at a time, his hand barely skimming the rail.

As he stepped onto the creaking floorboards of the second floor, John winced. He never had liked the sound of old wood under his feet, and this house gave him a bad feeling in general, without the creepy noises.

Looking around the hallway, John grinned to himself. The runes Sam had been sent up to draw were perfectly spaced, and there wasn't a line out of place. When he checked in the rooms he could see that they too were taken care of in the highest of skill.

He was halfway down the hall when he heard the crash come from a room twenty feet in front of him. When he looked up, the door to the room slammed shut, and even as far back as he was, John could feel the temperature drop.

His sawed off shotgun was in his hand faster than he could blink, and he was running for the door, Sam's name on his lips. The words his son had last spoken to him only half an hour earlier beat their way into his mind, and he rammed his shoulder into the door.

'_Every victim that has been found has the same profile description…'_

SLAM!

'_Mid to late teens…' _

**SLAM!**

'_With dark hair and a tall build.' _

**SLAM!**

'_Seven of the last ten attacks have been male…'_

CRASH!

The choked off cry that emanated from behind the closed door froze John. He knew that voice anywhere, and Sam hadn't made that noise in a long time… He hadn't _needed_ to make that sound in a long time.

"Sonovabitch! _Sammy!_" John called, as he stepped back and rammed into the door again. He had to get to his son. He had promised him that nothing would go wrong on this hunt, that they could handle it, and he had broken the promise. Intentionally or not, he had still broken it.

_C'mon, open!_ John thought fervently as once again he threw himself into the door.

_Hang on Sammy!_

XXXXX

Sam looked up from his work as he heard his father coming up the stairs, and he smiled, knowing his father had finished with the first floor, and would help him finish with the second.

As he was turning back to the rune he had been drawing, he heard the sound of his father's footsteps coming down the hall. Putting the oil based crayon back to the wall, Sam had only drawn one line when he felt the temperature drop.

Cold pressure gripped his throat and he dropped the crayon, reaching instead for the thing gripping his neck. He never had a chance to grab hold, as he was picked up off the floor and thrown across the room. He smashed into the window-side table, causing the wood to crack and break, and he fell to the floor on top of the pieces of broken oak.

Before he had a chance to get up, he heard the door slam shut, and the cold grip was back on his throat, tossing him as if he were nothing more than a rag doll across the room. The door to the closet collapsed inward as he hit it, sending him crashing through into the closet's back wall.

A sharp cry left his lips before he could stop it, as he felt the bone in his leg bend and break under his weight as he landed. Sam grappled, and tried to lift himself from his position on the floor, but he couldn't get his arms to work like he wanted them to.

He heard his father call out to him, even as he felt the cold pressure fold into his chest, and he gasped. He was fumbling for the non-corporeal hand even as he wheezed for breath. His hands passed through the banshee's arm, and he could feel himself getting closer to unconsciousness.

He tried to call for his father as black speckled his vision and the edges tinted gray, but nothing left his lips except for a coughing wheeze.

_Dad!_ His mind screamed as darkness enfolded him.

'_There's a line formed you can't see,  
__I've been waiting; you give nothing for free,  
__But there's a yearning, it's deep and calm,  
__And time has burnt me,  
__So, cut me a break 'cause I can't wait.'_

TBC…

XXXX

A/N: So I hope you enjoyed, and as I promised, I can't go that long without limp and hurting Sammy…

So take care and review often,

DS


	3. Chapter 3

Hey guys! So I know this story is taking longer than expected, and there is no excuse other than the horrendous writer's block I have going on. I put up a one-shot last night in hopes of finishing this chapter faster, and though it seems to have worked, I still have chapter four to think about.

I'm so happy with the reviews on this story, I've been almost giddy watching the numbers, ad hearing the feedback you guys give… It really does my heart good, and right now that's what I need.

Not to ramble about my problems, but it seems like nothing can go right in the last week or so… I lost my chance at states, I lost a chance at my dream job, I gained a few pounds, got in a fight with a good friend… and so on…

So I can't wait for reviews from this chapter to make me feel a little better!

Song is I Should Have Told You by Fuel.

So now that drivel is over, read on!

XXXXX

'After the laughter passes by  
And what remains are shadows of the truth you try to hide  
And for our sins left never reconciled  
The simple truth is hearts were made just to fail  
No matter how we try

If I don't see you again  
I only hope someday you understand  
Time turns good love to goodbye  
I should have told you  
It's all it would ever be'

All sound stopped coming from the other side of the door, and John panicked. Blood pounded a staccato rhythm in his ears, and his hands went numb. He looked in dawning horror at the wood that was a barrier between him and his youngest son, hoping beyond hope that Sam was alright.

Pull yourself together, your son needs you.

The voice of his old drill sergeant hung heavy in his mind, and he shook himself from his stupor. He had to get to his son, and he had to get to him _now!_

John backed himself up and threw himself against the door that separated him and Sam as hard as he could. The hinges creaked and the wood splintered with the force, and he allowed himself a grim smile of satisfaction, before he backed himself up again for another go.

This time the door broke. The handle hung limply from the splintered wood around it, and painted cracked and fell to the floor. John hesitantly pushed the door forward and, holding his gun in front of him, he cautiously peered inside…

And his heart stopped in his chest.

Sam lay pale and still in the rubble that had once been a walk in closet. Blood lined the right side of his face from a gash above his eye. Angry red bruising was already starting to form around his cheek and nose, and blotching around his neck. White bone stuck through a rip in the left leg of his jeans, and John had to fight hard not to gag.

Sam was- Sam was _broken._

A flicker of movement in the right corner of the room caught his eye, and he turned with shotgun at the ready. The banshee opened its mouth, readying to screech, and John shot it straight in the heart. It howled and flew through the open window behind it.

He looked over to Sam and then to the runes on the wall, and knew that he should finish the hunt, but Sam needed help, and his baby came before everything else.

Shoving the gun into the waistband of his jeans, John jogged over to Sam, and trying his hardest not to hurt his boy any further, he carefully checked him over. Raspy wheezes made their way past the boy's lips in place of normal breaths, and as John pressed his fingers gently into his son's neck; trying hard not to notice the rapidly warming and swelling skin; he noticed Sam's pulse was beating a lot faster than normal.

If it hadn't been for Sam's leg, John would have taken the younger man home, but for all his medical knowledge and expertise, the break was out of his league.

Normally John would have splintered the appendage, but with the type of break it would have done more harm than good, and that was the last thing he wanted.

Carefully feeling along the rest of his son's body, John discovered three bruised, maybe cracked ribs, and a long gash running down his side. Not to mention the various and numerous bruises that lined his whole body.

All in all, Sam was in bad shape, and John needed to get him of there before the banshee came back to finish what it had started.

Carefully lifting his son in his arms, John made sure his precious burden was secure before he stood. Scanning the room for anything he could have forgotten and any danger he might have missed, John sighed and looked down at Sam.

His son's stillness is nauseating. Sam had always been one to move around, to fidget, even while sleeping, and his now unmoving form scared John more than he wanted to admit.

His face was pale and lax, but little lines around his mouth and eyes betrayed the pain he felt even while unconscious. Red blushed the unblemished skin of his cheeks, marring the mostly milky complexion of his unconscious features.

Knowing that he can't afford anymore time, John forces his attention forward, and walks from the room, Sam's left arm smacking his thigh in tune with his steps, while his right seemed to bounce on his stomach protectively.

Reaching the truck, John knelt down and precariously balanced Sam with one arm and his knee, using his other arm to open the passenger door. He stood and gently lowered Sam onto the leather seat, leaving his seatbelt undone, for fear of causing further damage and pain to his son.

Closing the door tightly, John jogged around to the other side of the truck, all the while praying for Sam.

'_Please be okay Sammy. Please, just be okay.'_

XXXXX

Three hours later found a distressed John anxiously pacing the carpeted floor of the small waiting room of Farish Memorial Hospital. He had been waiting for news of Sam since he had come in over two and a half hours earlier.

-----

"Help! I need help here!" John Winchester called as he jogged through the automatic double doors of the ER, holding tightly to the unconscious form of his son. Sam hadn't moved since John had found him, and the continued silence unnerved the eldest Winchester.

Blood had soaked through the collar and side of Sam's shirt, turning the cerulean a disturbing magenta. Bruises stood pronounced against the pale skin of Sam's jaw line and neck, making his skin look like a tie-dye gone wrong. The red tinted white of the bone sticking through his torn jeans, along with the stained edges of the tears, stood jagged and grotesque.

And John Winchester was panicking.

Nurses seemed to peer at him and Sam with a mixture of horror and curiosity, but none of them made a move to come towards them. John had to fight the urge to look back down at the disturbingly slack form of his son, as he continued to unconsciously study the looks being thrown towards them.

"Please!" The plea ripped itself from the usually gruff man, with a broken and desperate edge to it. His voice hadn't cracked that way since the day Mary had died, and it was saying something that the ex-marine was close to breaking down as the stress, worry and fear of the situation flooded him.

But… It seemed to do the trick.

Two nurses ran for him and Sam, while another paged a doctor from the switchboard, before going to get a nearby gurney. The minutes passed in a blur as Sam's vitals and injuries were taken, and questions pummeled John.

Feeling the shift in weight from his arms, John looked and found a strong male orderly trying to take Sam from him. John clenched his hands tighter around his youngest and looked to where the orderly motioned he was going to take Sam; only to see a pristine gurney waiting for him.

John raised his chin indignantly, and moved to place Sam on the gurney himself. The nurses moved away for a moment, but as soon as he gently placed Sam on the white cloth covering, he found himself being pushed away as they swarmed back to Sam's side.

John watched as Sam was pushed through the swinging double doors of the trauma area with wide, worried eyes. He was pushed into the uncomfortable chairs of the ER waiting room, and forms were shoved into his shaking hands.

With a sigh, John tore his eyes from the last spot he had seen Sam, and forced his wary eyes to look over the forms.

XXXXX

Since then he had been moved to the surgical waiting room, with the simple explanation, "_Sir, your son's leg needs to be taken care of."_

In the two hours he had been in the waiting room, he had guaranteed solitude, and worn the floor so much there was a chance a new one needed to be laid down. Between the pacing, the sighing, and his continuous teeth gnashing, John wasn't doing so good in the waiting category.

As the eldest Winchester finally forced himself to sit in the uncomfortable hospital issue chairs, he found himself dreading another problem. He still had to tell Dean what had happened.

What he had let happen.

He still had to tell his oldest that he had let Sammy get hurt. That in his haste he hadn't listened to all the facts, and had gotten his youngest hurt in the process. He had to let Dean know that even though Sam had told him about the previous victims, and all their connections, he had still let him go off by himself.

He had let Sam get hurt.

Because he had been more focused on finishing the hunt, than on the well being of his son, Sam had been one upped by the banshee. That he had failed to do the one thing Dean had asked of him before he left.

-----

"Hey dad?" Dean asked, turning towards his father, and slinging his worn army green bag over his shoulder.

"Yeah son?" John asked, continuing to look down at the guns he was cleaning, with only a split second raise of his eyes to acknowledge Dean.

"Just ah-" Dean started and reached up to scratch a hand through his shorn hair. "Just promise to take care of Sammy while I'm gone?"

John looked up at that, at the protective, almost pleading tone of his oldest. "I promise you Dean, that I will do everything I can to make sure Sam's safe." Dean had sagged at the answer, relief palpable on his face.

XXXXX

John sighed at the memory, knowing that a simple '_Sorry Dean_' wasn't going to cut it this time. That he had screwed up, and screwed up royally. That both his sons had deserved better.

Ah god, Dean I'm so sorry.

'And so we face the silence of another memory  
And draw the shades down upon a scene we once believed  
So before you walk away  
And I just walk on out just know'

XXXXX

A/N: So okay guys… I hope you liked that… If not let me know, and hey let me know if you did.

Take care and review often,

DS


	4. Chapter 4

Hey guys!! Peeks from behind the sofa… You're not angry about how long it took to get this chapter up, are yah? I mean you wouldn't do anything rash like stop reading or reviewing would you?

Charli… are you still talking to me?

I do have good news to go with this chapter though… I haven't been feeling well lately, and that's one of the reasons that it's been taking so long in between updates… SO I finally went to the dreaded doctors, and forced myself through the tests. (I detest needles!)

The doctor finally found that one of my problems was that my medication was only half the strength it should have been, and that has been fixed… I'm feeling better, but there are still a few things off, so bear with me and this story… It and I both love you and your reviews!

Song is by Lifehouse… and if I feel up to it later, I may just make a music video for it on youtube… Under my old name, ObuletShadowStalker… But that's beside the point!

Read on and enjoy.

XXXXX

'A strangled smile fell from your face  
It kills me that I hurt you this way  
The worst part is that I didn't even know  
Now there's a million reasons for you to go  
But if you can find a reason to stay

I'll do whatever it takes  
To turn this around  
I know what's at stake  
I know that I've let you down  
And if you give me a chance  
Believe that I can change  
I'll keep us together whatever it takes'

XXXXX

Two Hours Earlier, Trauma Room 2:

Sam wove his way through a hazy maze of pain. He couldn't figure out exactly where he was, or how long he had been there, but the searing ache that ran through his body was a constant companion.

He felt hands all over his body, and tried to shrink away from the invading touches. He wished for the comforting presences of his father and brother, but fate it seemed, didn't like him today. A pitiful moan forced its way past his clenched teeth, and Sam flinched away from the unfamiliar hands.

Hands gripped his arms and legs, trying to hold him still, and Sam panicked, not knowing where he was, why he was hurt, or who was around him. His flinches turned into strong pulls, trying as he might to free himself. Pain wracked his body, as he wrenched and twisted from the hands, and cries unwillingly left the confines of his throat.

"Who are you? Where am I?" Sam asked between cries and struggles, forcing his eyes open. Light seared into his mind, bringing a spiking pain back to his head. His eyes watered, and he looked around, seeing blurred faces standing over him, blocking some of the light. When the burning pain was too much, Sam shut his eyes once more, still pulling from the unwanted touches.

He opened his eyes once more and looked at the faces around him, not caring as tears ran from his watering eyes. He couldn't tell with the blurring but the man above him looked as if he was concerned, and Sam didn't know what to do with that information.

He felt a piercing in his left bicep, and looked over. Through hazy vision he saw the glint of a syringe as a woman in blue drew it back from his arm and looked at him with sympathy.

What?

The question died in his mind as his vision swirled into darkness. As he fell into the welcome arms of unconsciousness, Sam wondered where Dean and his father were. He wanted them with him, and for the life of him, couldn't figure out why they weren't there.

Then everything faded away and he was floating.

XXXXX

Dr. Pete Simon sighed as he watched his patient go limp once more on the table. He hadn't wanted to sedate the young man, but when he had woken confused and struggling, there wasn't much choice left.

The stark fear the hazel eyes had held when they had looked up at him, had made his heart clench hard in his chest. He felt for the family of the young man lying so pale and still on the gurney in front of him, as he bent to resume his examination.

"Alise?" He asked, looking over the bad break that tore through the skin of the boy's left shin.

"Yes Dr?" She looked up and over to him, an expectant look on her face.

"Call Shiever in orthopedic surgery. Tell her that we have an open fracture to the Tibia in the left leg of a fifteen year old male. From the looks of it, there may also be an incomplete fracture to the Fibula." Alise nodded and walked to the phone, all the while, looking back to check he didn't expect anything more of her at that moment.

"Justin?" He called looking for the surgical nurse that had entered the room a few moments earlier. When he looked up from the chart he had been perusing, he continued. "Go talk to the father, and see if you can find out more about the-" he paused to remember what had brought the boy into the ER in the first place, before looking back to the nurse, "the ATV accident, that led to this visit." Justin nodded and left the room, leaving Pete alone with Alise and his patient once more.

Looking back down at the broken young man that lay before him, Pete fought the urge to scrub his hand through his hair, and sigh. _It was going to be a long night._

XXXXX

Two and a half hours later, Surgical Waiting Room:

John Winchester sat stiffly in the uncomfortable hospital issue chair, that he had occupied since being told that Sam was being sent into surgery. Sure he had taken the pacing route a few times since arriving, but for the most part, his butt had been conforming to the contours of the chair since being led into the room.

Standing, John stretched the aching muscles of his back and scrubbed a hand over his tired, watering eyes. He would swear up and down that the watering was just from staring at the lime green paint of the walls for so long, but in his heart he knew some of it was from the worrying over his youngest child.

He was sorely tempted to drop and start doing push-ups. The repetitive actions had always calmed him in the past, and he just wanted to do anything that would take his mind off what was happening with Sam. Deciding that if he was still waiting in half an hour, he would give into the urge, John walked over to the nurses' station and asked to use the phone.

He was dreading the talk he was about to have with his eldest son, but he knew it had to be done. Dean would never forgive him if Sam were hurt and he didn't tell him right away.

The nurse looked up at him with a tired smile and handed the phone set to him. Dialing the number he knew by heart, John took the cordless phone and walked over to lean on the doorjamb.

"Hello?" The gruff, lulled voice of his eldest son filled the line, and John had to smile and wonder just what his son had been doing when he called.

"Dean." The name was a statement and order all in one.

"Dad?" The voice was perkier and more alive that it had been, and John sighed quietly to himself, knowing that Dean wasn't going to take the news about his brother well. "What is it? What's wrong?" An anxious tinge now lined his eldest' tone, and John winced.

"We had a little trouble on a hunt Dean." John let the information sink in before adding, "Sammy got hurt."

The line was quiet for a moment before Dean's forced voice asked, "How bad?" John could tell Dean was trying hard not to freak and he could blame him.

"I couldn't fix it." Dean's sharp intake of breath was harsh enough to pierce his heart. "He's in surgery right now. A damn banshee got a hold of him and tossed him around pretty good. Good enough to break his leg, and bruise some ribs. It choked him, gave him a pretty good concussion too." John finished quietly, hearing Dean fumble around on the other side of the line.

"_Shit._" The word seemed to sum up so much, the situation they were in right now, being one of them. "Where were you?" He could tell Dean tried to hide the accusation from the tone, but John heard it all the same.

"Watch your tone." John growled before reigning his temper. "I was checking the other rooms while he drew the runes, and the damn thing locked me out before I could get to him." He heard Dean's breath whoosh from his lungs at the explanation and knew he was in for it.

"You _split up_?" Everything went quiet on Dean's end, and John held his breath. "What the hell were you thinking? You don't split up on hunts like those! Especially when I'm not there to protect him!"

'_Dean? What's wrong?' _A feminine voice sounded in the background, and he heard Dean fumble with the phone before answering her.

'Nothing, go back to sleep Lisa.' 

"Dad?" He asked after a minute, his voice a forced calm.

"Yeah son?"

"I'm leaving now. I'll be there in the morning, and then we're going to talk." John heard the subtle threat, and was taken aback by it.

"Don't you-" the line went dead before he finished, and John stared at the phone in his hand as if it had three heads, "threaten me."

Sighing John gave the phone back to the nurse, and went back to _his _chair.

It was going to be a long night.

XXXXX

'And if you give me a chance  
Believe that I can change  
I'll keep us together whatever it takes'

XXXXX

A/N: What did you think? Angsty enough? Or was it too much?

Oh well, let me know either way.

Take care,

DS


	5. Chapter 5

Hey guys!!

-Smiles-

Can you believe it? It's only been a week, and there's a new chapter up! This is fantastic, especially for me… I've felt better over the past week, and decided that since I've been snowed in…(the stuff's up to my waist!) that I would write a new chapter for you.

Thanks to all that reviewed, with your kind words and warm wishes… It really makes me smile to read all the positive feedback, and it's starting to make this story become one of my all time favorites.

The song is Savior by Skillet.

Thanks again and happy reading! (And if you like, review! -Not that I'm begging or anything… No not me!-)

-You can roll your eyes now…-

XXXXX

_'It's time to redefine  
Your deophobic mind  
Don't hesitate, no escape  
From secrets on the inside _

There's nothing left to lose  
There's nothing left to prove  
Surrender your love  
It's all you can do, yeah' 

XXXXX

"Dad?" He asked after a minute, his voice a forced calm.

"Yeah son?"

"I'm leaving now. I'll be there in the morning, and then we're going to talk."

Dean sighed as he thought about his last words to his father. He had been angry and worried; still was; and he had taken those emotions out on the older man without thinking. Sure he was still pissed at his father, but he didn't know the whole story, and until he did, he wasn't going to make anymore assumptions or accusations.

Although he did let Sammy get hurt.

The petulant thought ran rampant through his mind, bringing with it a seething anger that tried to burn away any second thoughts he had about forgiving or listening to his father.

Sucking in a deep breath, Dean gripped the worn leather of the Impala's steering wheel harder in his left hand. His knuckles had long since lost all color, and the joints creaked in rebellion of his harsh treatment.

Growling and scrubbing his right hand roughly through his shorn hair, Dean pressed the gas pedal down a little bit harder, and reached over to turn up the volume of the radio. All thoughts other than seeing his little brother, flew out of his mind.

He had a Sammy to check on.

XXXXX

John Winchester was not a patient man.

He had been in the marines, but that didn't mean he had the fortitude of one. After the third hour of sitting in the worn chair of the waiting room, with nothing to do but stare at the sickly clean walls, he was starting to lose it.

If he didn't hear news on his son soon, or if the young brunette that sat behind the glass at the nurses desk, snapped her gum one more time, John was going to snap.

It was a sure thing.

Tapping his foot anxiously against the speckled tile of the floor, John grit his teeth and stared at the gold band that lined his left ring finger. The light glinted harshly off the metallic sheen, and John winced as it glared into his eyes.

'SNAP!'

That's it!

John rose from his seat, an annoyed look forming wrinkles between his brows and his lips pulled taught. He moved purposely toward the unsuspecting nurse, ready to reach in a pull out the gum by force if need be.

"Family of Sam Cooper?" The call stopped him in his tracks. Glancing back toward the nurse he growled and thought, _you are _so_ lucky, _and made his way over to the aging man in scrubs, who stood waiting for him by the surgical room doors.

"I'm his father," John said, an worried tinge lining his normally stoic voice. The façade had fallen along with any pretense of staying calm while waiting for news of his son.

The man looked over wire rimmed glasses, almost as if he were committing everything about the hunter to memory. His jaw tightened over his loose, wrinkled skin, as he settled on the worn, hardened hazel eyes, and he raised a peppered eye brow, before looking down to his chart.

"My name is Peter Simon and I was your son's doctor tonight. Dr. Shiever, your son's orthopedic surgeon, will be joining us shortly, as soon as she has finished scrubbing down." The man held out his hand at the end of his condescending speech, and John looked at the appendage in shock.

"It's nice to meet you." His tone was forced, John could tell the man didn't like him, and he wasn't very impressed either, but he placed his calloused hand in the elder man's.

"Mmhhm." The man hummed, once again looking over his glasses. John had to fight the urge to deck the man, even if he held news about Sam.

"How's my son?" John asked, pushing his exasperation aside in favor of news about his youngest.

"He will be alright." Dr. Simon answered simply, still staring John down as if he had done something irrevocably wrong.

"Is there anything-" John started, cutting himself off when a woman in her thirties walked through the same doors the older doctor had walked through.

"Mr. Cooper?" She asked in a pleased tone. John graciously turned to her, tuning out the older man.

"How's Sam?" The question was once again asked in an anxious tone, as he tried to figure out exactly how his youngest was faring.

"Sam's doing good." She told him, a smile on her face as she held out her hand. "My name is Sheila Shiever, by the way." John lifted a brow at the name, but otherwise held his tongue and held out his hand. "My parents had a funny sense of humor," she said in answer to the unasked question, and lightly squeezed his hand in her own.

"Sam?" John asked again after a moment.

Dr. Shiever looked over to Dr. Simon to try and gauge what he had told John, and seeing the lofty look on his face, sighed and lightly smacked her co-worker on the shoulder. "I'm sorry Mr. Cooper, sometimes, Dr. Simon can be a bit pompous." The man growled at her, but she plaintively ignored him.

"Anyway," she started, letting out a deep breath, "Sam made it through surgery with flying colors. He woke before and was a little combative with the doctors, but that's to be expected with a concussion, and waking in a strange place." John worried his bottom lip between his teeth and watched the doctor in front of him.

"Sam had two severe breaks to his leg, one of them resulting in a plate and screws to put it back together. There is a cast on his leg from above the knee to just above his toes, which will have to be kept on for six to eight weeks. After the cast comes off, Sam may need to have physical therapy to strengthen the bones, and to help repair tendon and ligament strain and damage." She stopped for a moment to let him take in everything she had said, and John nodded, knowing both Sam and Dean were going to be very displeased with the news.

"Other than that, Sam has a minor concussion as you know, and two bruised ribs." Once again John nodded, for lack of a better response and looked imploringly at her, trying to see if there was anything else he needed to know. "Other than the bruising and superficial cuts, Sam seems to be fine other than the injuries I listed." She smiled to make her point and John had to fight from falling as the relief left him light headed.

"Thank you so much! Both of you," John said, turning to encompass both doctors with his praise. "When can I see him?" He asked after a moment of basking in the news that his son was going to be okay.

"He's in recovery right now, but as soon as he's moved to a room in PCU2, I'll have a nurse come get you, and take you to him." She smiled again and this time, John's lips quirked in a worn smile of his own.

"Thank you again," he said nodding, as they turned to leave the room.

For the fourth time that night, John lowered himself into the uncomfortable hospital issue chair, and sighed.

Sam's okay. Now I just have to deal with Dean.

What you got  
What you want  
What you need  
Gonna be your savior  
Everything's gonna crash and break  
Your savior

I am the eyes inside  
Staring back at you

XXXXX

A/N: Okay… So it was a little shorter than my previous chapters, but I wanted to get a chapter up for you all, and about two thirds of the way through, I found myself hitting a little writer's block…

I also apologize for the lack of Sammy... But he's unconscious and it's kind of hard to make paragraphs talking about that... I could do it, but I would probably bore you, or make you think I'm insane, or both...

I hope you enjoyed anyway.

Take care and review often!

DS


	6. Chapter 6

Hey guys!

So I guess this means this chapter finally went up… (after I struggled, growled, screamed at, pulled out my hair because of, glowered, hyperventilated… With and because of my computer.) I tried posting a few times yesterday, but it seemed the site didn't like me or was PMS'ing… Either way, I wasn't getting it posted.

Through no fault of my own… (for once)

Anyway, I'm glad you guys are still liking this… Though it seems not so much anymore, with the drop in reviews and hits last chapter… : ( Oh Well… I write for myself and anyone who cares anyway…Though I hope that's you!)

Song is 'Never Alone' by Barlow Girls.

Onto the next chapter… Enjoy!

XXXXX

'_I cried out with no reply and  
I can't feel You by my side  
So I'll hold tight to what I know  
You're here and I'm never alone. _

_And though I can not see You  
and I can't explain why.  
Such a deep, deep reassurance  
You've placed in my life oh  
We cannot separate  
'Cause You're part of me  
and though You're invisible  
I'll trust the unseen'_

Dean took the steps to the second floor of the hospital, two at a time. He was anxious to see his brother, and after nine hours of driving and four large cups of coffee, Dean was wired.

Over the hours he had spent with knuckles white on the steering wheel, alone with his thoughts, Dean had gone over and over the conversation he had with his father. The more he thought about the words spoken, the angrier he got with his father, and with himself.

_I never should have left Sammy alone_.

The thought had over toned the images of his broken brother, and the angry words spoken with his father. As the miles passed, as he got closer to his brother, the thought seemed to scream at him… To beat at him.

He hadn't known how to deal with the festering guilt and anger the thoughts of his injured brother brought, and they had festered into open sores on his conscious. He promised to himself and his brother that he would never leave Sam alone, over and over again.

Now as he reached the door leading to PCUII, and pushed through it, everything seemed to mute itself. He wanted to see his brother, and "talk" to his father. He wanted to make sure that his brother really was going to be okay, that he wasn't permanently or fatally hurt, no matter the reassurances of his father.

"Excuse me?" He asked, stopping in front of the nurses station. A middle aged nurse angled her face to meet his, and a smile crinkled at the corner of her mouth.

"Can I help you?" He soft voice lulled over the harsh thoughts roiling through him and Dean smiled despite himself. He remembered the feeling from the talks he had with his mother, and it was comforting despite the harsh reality of her death.

"Uh, I came to see my brother," he answered, a slight waver making itself known through the words. "Sam Cooper?" He clarified when she looked at him expectantly.

"Ah, yes." She turned to grab a file from the rack beside her, and flipped the top page open." He's in room 206. That's just down the hall, last door on your right." Dean nodded and smiled at her, before turning and walking in the direction of her index finger.

Stopping just outside the door, Dean took a deep breath and turned the handle slowly. Looking in the room, his deep breath caught in his throat, and he choked.

_Sammy_.

His brother was still and white against the hospital bed. A deep cut was stitched above his eye, and bruises stood out starkly on his throat. Dean's attention caught on the white plaster running from above his knee to his toes, and he let his breath stutter out.

The emotions and his mental image of Sam broken and bleeding seemed to suffocate him, and his eyes watered.

His father looked up at him, and threw him a tired smile, looking worn and pale despite the fact that it was _Sam _sick and hurt in the hospital bed. Dean could see the guilt and concern that lined his forehead and crinkled the skin around his father's eyes and mouth, and chose to keep quiet until he could look Sam over more closely.

Quietly, Dean walked in the room and closed the door behind him absent mindedly. He walked toward Sam's bed with unconscious movements, not exactly sure what he was doing as he got closer to his brother.

Absently, Dean took Sam's hand in his own, the lax fingers cold against his warm ones. He placed his other hand on Sam's forehead and stroked the long brown bangs that lay there.

Through it all, Sam lay still, and his father watched him.

"We need to talk," Dean said after a moment, not taking his eyes off Sam.

"Yes we do," his father agreed, looking down at Dean's rhythmic movements against Sam's forehead.

Shaking his head, Dean squeezed Sam's hand and pulled his hands back to shove them in his pockets. He walked toward the small adjoining bathroom, and motioned his father to come with him.

_It was time to clear some things up._

XXXXX

"So what happened?" The question caught John off guard as he stepped into the small room. He stood across from Dean, studying his eldest warily.

"He was upstairs and I was downstairs," John sighed deeply, and looked Dean in the eye. His son was watching him critically, and John could tell every movement he made was being catalogued.

"And," Dean asked condescendingly.

"_And_ you need to watch your tone," John growled, genuinely surprised at the defiance emanating from his son.

Dean begrudgingly nodded and motioned for him to go on.

"I finished up downstairs and went to check on Sam's work. I was just down the hall when the door slammed shut and he,"he swallowed before continuing, "and he _screamed._" Scrubbing a hand over his face, John looked up at Dean. "God, he screamed, and I ran at that door, I _beat_ at it, but it wouldn't budge." His voice took on a desperate edge, and he watched Dean go white.

"When I finally got through the door, Sam was lying in the broken splinters of the closet door. He was bloody and bruised, and his leg was- God his leg was _awful._" Swallowing again, John watched a fine tremor run through Dean, and reached to put his hand on his son's shoulder.

"Did you get the bastard?" Dean asked after a moment of silence.

Shaking his head, he answered ruefully, "No, Sammy needed help, and that son of a bitch got away."

Dean nodded and looked him in the face, his own face set in a serious frown. "What's the profile?" He asked, and John could see the thoughts running through his eyes, as his eldest set his mind to hunting the banshee down.

John dreaded the next words out of his mouth, and unconsciously mirrored his youngest' explanation, "She seems to be attacking in a time range between eight thirty and nine every night. Every victim that has been found has the same profile description, mid to late teens, with dark hair and a tall build. Eight of the last eleven attacks have been male, your brother included."

A vein in Dean's forehead seemed to pulse and John braced himself for the inevitable blow-out. "And you sent him upstairs by himself?" Dean's tone was deadly calm, and John closed his eyes, knowing what was coming.

"Yes." He knew he shouldn't let his son be this disrespectful, but there were times when it was needed and allowed. Sam had been his responsibility, and he had let him down. He had cared about the hunt enough, to not heed his youngest son's warnings, and in the end Sam had gotten hurt.

"What the hell were you thinking? You could have gotten him killed!" The statements were lined with a faint growl and John looked Dean in the eye, not denying anything.

_I wasn't even there to protect him_! John could see the thought clearly on Dean's distressed face, and a lump formed in his throat.

"I know," his answer was simple and Dean seemed taken aback.

"You _know_?"

"Yes, I know. I was thinking more about finishing the hunt than Sam, and for that I'm sorry. But what's done is done, and there's nothing we can do to change that. I just have to find a way to make it up to him."

_To earn both you and your brother's trust back._

"Well, make sure you do." Dean seemed to be floundering with his father's admittance of his wrongs, and John had to fight a smile to see his son so speechless.

With his mind spoken, Dean walked passed John, and back over to his brother's side. He dropped heavily into the chair John had just vacated and took Sam's hand in his own again.

John could hear Dean whisper reassuring words to Sam, his tone low, soft, and comforting- something John hadn't managed with his youngest in years.

Watching his boys, John sighed and prayed that something like this would never happen again. That he wouldn't _let _it happen again.

'_We cannot separate  
You're part of me  
and though You're invisible  
I'll trust the unseen'_

XXXXX

A/N: So what did you think? I kind of like this chapter, so I hope yah'all did too… No matter how much has shown it's hatred for it over the past two days.

Take care and review often.

DS


	7. Chapter 7

Hey guys! How was your Easter? I spent mine with my family, and I know you wanted a chapter last weekend, but I didn't get back till Wednesday night… So… Sorry about that!

On a different note… This chapter is going to be the last, but just so you don't get lost, this chapter goes into today's times. It actually goes to the conversation between Sam and Dean in, 'The Kids Are Alright' that started this whole fic.

So here you go guys, Charli… Enjoy!

Lyrics are from 'Car Crash' by Matt Nathanson.

XXXXX

'_I'm wide awake and so alive  
Shed my skin like scars_

Take me deep out past the lights  
Nothing dims these stars  
Nothing'

XXXXX****

Cicero Indiana; October, 2007:

Sam looked at Dean incredulously, as he sat across from him in a small restaurant, trying to figure out just what kind of hunt Dean thought he could get out of a guy killing himself with his own power tools.

"Alright, okay there's something better in Cicero than just a case," Dean said conspiratorially, leaning closer to Sam who sat across the table.

"And that is?" Sam asked, eyebrows raised.

"Lisa Braden," Dean answered with a smirk.

Breathing a laugh, Sam turned. "Should I even ask?"

"Remember that road trip I took, ah, about eight years ago?" Dean asked before continuing. "You were in Orlando with dad, wrapping up that Banshee thing."

"Yeah, the uh, five states, five days thing, right?" Sam asked, not knowing where Dean was headed with the topic, but feeling the unease as he remembered nights in the hospital, after being tossed around by that same banshee.

"Kinda, although I spent most of those days in Lisa's loft." Dean looked down, a faint red lining his cheeks.

Sam laughed and looked over his brother. "So let me get this straight. You want to drive all the way to Cicero just to hook up with some random chick?"

"She was a yoga teacher." Dean said adamantly. "That was the bendiest weekend of my life!" After a moment when all Sam did was snicker, Dean pushed forward. "C'mon man, have a heart! It's my dying wish!"

"Yeah well, how many dying wishes are you gonna get?" Sam asked, the unease in his stomach twisting away from his memories and to the thought of Dean's death.

"As many as I can squeeze out!" He shook his head. "C'mon smile Sam! God knows I'm gonna be smiling after twenty four hours with Gumby-girl!" The thought drew a smirk to Dean's face, and Sam couldn't help his answering smile.

"Gumby-girl," Dean said quietly after a moment, and Sam could see the thoughts running through his head. "Does that make me Pokey?" He asked seriously.

XXXXX

"Sam?" Dean asked later, as he sat on his bed in their motel room.

"Yeah?" He called back from the bathroom. Pulling a shirt over his head, he walked back into the room and dropped his toothbrush in his duffle, and looked to Dean quizzically.

"What do you, ah," pausing he stuttered lightly, "ah, what do you remember about that Banshee hunt?" Sam paled and faltered mid step and dropped heavily to his own bed. He could almost feel phantom pains in his leg from the break.

"I remember me and dad splitting up," he said, unconsciously wincing. "Then I remember being thrown around the room, and pain, a _lot_ of pain. Next thing I remember is waking up in the hospital, with you sitting next to me." Sam sighed, trying to keep the flashes of memories from invading his mind.

"You don't remember me and dad fighting?" Dean asked softly, treading carefully on the thin ice that had replaced Sam's usual mental barriers.

Sam's head snapped up at the news. "You fought with dad?" Surprise lined every pore of Sam's face and if it hadn't been so serious, Dean would have laughed.

"Yeah, uh, I kind of yelled at him for letting you go in alone, and-" Sam cut him off mid-sentence, still in awe that Dean had fought with their father.

"You _yelled_ at him?" He asked. "I mean I remember it was kind of tense between you two for awhile, but I never thought you actually yelled at him or anything."

Dean nodded and smirked. "Yeah, he wasn't very happy that I challenged him on everything that came to you. He also wasn't crazy about the fact that, once I knew you were okay, I ripped him a new one for not listening to the victim profiles, and caring more about the hunt than his own son." Dean's reply was sheepish, and he looked down, avoiding Sam's eyes.

"Yeah I bet he wasn't happy about that." Sam muttered, and Dean looked up to see him smiling. "Soldier-boy going against his leader," he snickered, and Dean had to fight to keep himself from smiling.

"Yeah well, at least I wasn't getting pencils stuck in holes for the next few months." Dean shot back, falling into the familiar banter with his brother.

"Hey that damn cast was itchy!" Sam growled back. "And at least I'm not Pokey."

"At least I get action."

"Yeah, way too much, if you ask me."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Hey, if you want to be a professional man-ho, that's fine." Sam said trying to placate his brother, raising his hands in a gesture of peace.

"It's not my fault the ladies can't resist me, geek boy."

"Oh, and hey, did you ever find out if Ben was your's, Daddy?"

Dean paled and Sam smirked.

END.

'_I'm wide awake and so alive  
Ringing like a bell  
Tell me this is paradise  
And not someplace I fell_

_Let me feel the car crash  
Just tip me 'til I capsize  
I've been waiting for my whole life  
To be broken, open, satisfied'_

A/N: So I hope you enjoyed. Let me know… And just as a warning… I've already got a new story going…

Take care and review often.

DS


End file.
